Things of Value
by enneh
Summary: 'What if, this time, his appraisal had been wrong' A long oneshot in which the relationship between the Fourth Kazekage and Gaara is explored. No pairings, very headcanon heavy. Contains spoilers for manga chapters 547-548...


_Since the Fourth Kazekage doesn't have a name, I've referred to him as 'Yondaime' throughout... Warning: this piece is **headcanon heavy** and_ _contains** big spoilers** for NARUTO Shippuden chapters 547-548._

* * *

Worst nightmare. What would be his worst nightmare?

He'd thought about it before. He'd thought about it ever since Karura had passed on. What if, this time, his appraisal had been wrong?

When the idea first came to him, when the village looked to him for a solution, it seemed like the perfect answer. A Kazekage was supposed to give up anything for the safety of his village, even a child.

For a while, he thought that overriding his reservations and persuading the voice of reason had all been worth the endeavour.

But as he stood in the empty streets of Sunagakure, his wife and brother-in-law gone, on the cusp of losing his son, Yondaime wondered if the fault had been his.

* * *

'I don't think I'd want that for our child.'

It was at the time of the first one. A crucial time. Not only were they about to become parents, but Yondaime had other pressures bearing weight on the safe birth of this first, and potentially only baby.

'Parents are supposed to put trust in their children,' he explained.

They were the values his parents had bestowed upon him; that was the aim of all mothers and fathers. They entrusted their children to protect Sunagakure, to do whatever was in their power to pave the way for the generation after. Even if their part was to be just one stepping stone towards a greater, much better picture for the shinobi world, it was something they would have to adhere to dutifully. He wasn't going to expect any less of his own offspring.

'It would be a great burden,' Karura said, one hand protectively placed over her rounded stomach. 'To make our own child a Jinchuuriki...'

She looked so much younger in the low light of the empty spare room, her exhaustion clear. Yondaime didn't claim to be an expert on these things, but he did begrudge putting her under pressure at such an early stage in her pregnancy. Otherwise, the matter of finding a host for the Shukaku was unavoidable. It had to be done, and they couldn't rely on anybody else to do it.

Closing the gap between them, he silenced her, placing his hands heavily on her small shoulders. She stared back in defiance, her blue eyes soft with uncertainty. That was the face he had fallen in love with, the strong-willed woman he was proud to call his wife. But he had found that, with a lot of attention, the softer side to her was easy to find.

'If we raise this child carefully, there is no reason why they should feel burdened,' he told her.

And that was what he believed. He had been told before that babies brought their own love – that was the value to them. Together, and with love and proper training, he thought they could raise the perfect Jinchuuriki for the village. Yet Karura's lack of agreement was clear. He saw it in the way she stepped back from him, angling herself to look out of the window where streams of sand dust streaked the sky.

But one way or the other, she would yield.

It had been fated since they had chosen to be together. The Kazekage's will would be hers. That was the value of Karura as his partner, the investment he'd made in establishing their relationship.

Again, he approached her. They stood side-by-side, only touching at the shoulders. A sand storm was raging outside, stall covers and shop signs beaten by the strong winds. The afternoon sky was congested with clouds, the light of the falling sun masked by the sand blind.

'We can't expect anybody else to do this for us,' Yondaime said.

He was met with a stony silence. Karura looked down at herself, face half hidden behind the scarf at her neck.

'For the sake of the village—'

'Don't you do enough for the village?' she asked, arresting him with a sharp stare. 'You shouldn't have to sacrifice your own child—'

'I can't be expected to sacrifice any less,' he said, his voice lowering an octave. 'They sacrifice_ their_ children every day to keep the village alive. Don't you understand?'

Surprise eased the crease from between her eyebrows, her expression suddenly unfathomable. She looked up at him like that for some time, before a small smile pulled at her lips. Looking down, eyelashes sweeping her cheeks, she chuckled.

'Your problem is that you care too much,' she told him.

'I care as much as I have to,' he said, defensive in the face of her laughter. 'The people of Suna value me, as I do them. In order to maintain the balance I -'

Removing her hand from her stomach, Karura then rested her warm palm against the side of his face.

'You're always so serious,' she interrupted, 'with your talk about value and worth...'

In his chagrin, Yondaime didn't have the effort to swat her hand away. She gave three gentle taps to his cheek, that smile still plastered on her face.

He clicked his tongue. 'If you don't find value in things, then they become worthless. Don't you agree?'

'Yes, but...'

'Offering the village a Jinchuuriki will be worth more than anything I'm offering now,' he went on, still determined to sway her opinion.

She fixed him with a look of contemplation, deliberately taking her time to conclude the discussion. She even broke away from his stare, instead examining the vacant room as if to appraise it.

'Then this can't be the nursery,' she finally said, turning full circle.

'Why?' Yondaime quizzed; he thought it was perfect. 'It's out of the way of the main house, quiet –'

'Exactly,' she interrupted. 'It's too out of the way. I want our child to be brought up like any other, so it will stay in our room for the first few months.'

He wanted to explain that his definition of raising their child 'with care' was apparently a little different from hers. After all, if the baby took to the Shukaku, they would have to err on the side of caution – the consequence of the alternative wasn't worth thinking about.

As usual, however, Karura's thoughts were elsewhere. Carried away by her eagerness to find a replacement room, she headed for the door, voicing her opinions aloud. Yondaime watched her go, arms folded across his chest. He could still hear her talking even after she had left. With a defeated sigh, he hit the light switch on the way out and closed the door to the neglected room.

There was still time to work on her about that yet.

* * *

By the time their second child was born, anxiety began to seep into his mind.

He loved his children. They were beautiful, and he loved them more than he ever thought himself capable. It struck him every time he looked at them; even the youngest's soft snuffles of sleep warmed him.

Looking over at the crib, wedged between the windowsill and Karura's side of the bed, he couldn't deny that there had been some worth in their failure to provide a suitable Jinchuuriki host.

And Karura's love had been so natural. She had taken to motherhood with ease, the reluctance she'd first felt having vanished in the same instant she brought their first into the world.

But Yondaime couldn't help wondering if it was the failure of the Shukaku implantation that was making her so happy. Two healthy children, both incompatible with the One Tail. Their family life was almost perfect, something more valuable than the world they lived on. But the pressure was increasing. The need for a Jinchuuriki was beginning to cause a rift between them at home.

'We have to think about what's best for the village—'

'The village?' she'd laughed. 'I love my home, but we have to think about what's best for our family now.'

Temari and Kankuro were too young to listen in on their arguments at least. The younger was barely feeding himself, the older just about able to string a sentence together. As he bickered with Karura over dinner, as they carried the disputes through to bedtime, he could only be thankful that the children didn't look unhappy.

One thing their mother didn't understand was that by considering the needs of Sunagakure, he was thinking of his children more than anything else. Why couldn't the wellbeing of his family be in unity with the wellbeing of the village? After all, if things didn't improve, then his small family's future would be at stake.

The situation in Suna was dire. Unless stronger shinobi existed to increase their value as a nation, it would only continue to spiral into further decline. As Kazekage, it was his job to prevent that from happening. If only Karura could see that as well as he could.

As his thoughts glazed over with tired irritation, she returned, wearing a satisfied smile. Usually Temari would sheepishly follow her in, Karura's resolve broken by her crying and the childish fear of being alone at night. But this time she looked pleased with herself, the bedtime routine close to being cracked. Tiptoeing in an effort to be quiet, she then made her way towards Kankuro's crib, admiring him as he slept.

The bedside lamps radiated a soft glow, just strong enough to read by. Yondaime switched his attention between the blurring words on the page of his book, to his wife who would spend the whole night looking at their son if he didn't prompt her to come to bed.

'I know, I know,' she whispered. 'But he's so cute, isn't he?'

Yondaime closed his book, dedicating an uncharacteristic amount of attention to placing it on the growing pile at his bedside table. He mustered a nod in response before turning out the lights. It wasn't like he had to say that sort of thing out loud... not that Karura agreed, however. She took offence to his silence.

'Are you still angry at me?' she asked.

'Just come to bed,' he ordered wearily. 'Get some sleep.'

'Fine,' Karura said. 'Then we can argue about the same thing all over again tomorrow.'

Irritation flared up inside of him, his anger reignited, ready for round two of their ongoing conflict. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark room, and he could see his wife stubbornly refusing to look at him.

'Maybe we wouldn't have to argue about it if you would just concede,' he reasoned.

The words came out through his teeth, his frustration with this whole situation growing. What was it that she didn't understand? Would she be happy to watch their village rot and sink into financial ruin?

Sunagakure was but an ink blot on a map of greater places and being Kazekage meant he couldn't ignore that. Stored within the village, they had a powerful, possibly unbeatable weapon. If they could just create a shinobi strong enough to wield it, then half of their problems could be solved. Owning a Jinchuuriki would give their politics more weight, and it would increase the strength of their nation.

Karura just couldn't see it.

She appeared exasperated, her voice rising with her passion, 'Honestly, it's like you only ever think of yourself!

Yondaime bit back the worst of his rage.

'I'm thinking of the village,' he said, 'our home! The future of Sunagakure-'

'But what about this next baby?' she challenged, tearful. 'What about _their_ future?'

Turning her back to him, she brought her arm across her face. Their son stirred, breathing in deep as if about to wake. The parents froze in place, anticipating his cry, anticipating another restless night. But Kankuro soon settled, his breathing rhythmic of sleep.

'It will be no different to that of their siblings,' Yondaime continued with a sigh, beginning to calm. 'Why would it be any different?'

'Everything is different for a Jinchuuriki,' Karura said. 'You'd be a fool not to acknowledge that.'

She turned to face him, drowned in the shadows of the room, words shaken with emotion.

Yondaime was tired of the arguing. Exhausted with it. Although his opinion wasn't going to change, he was beginning to wonder if it was _his_ turn to yield. To accept that two opportunities for the Shukaku experiment had presented themselves only to fail both times. Maybe it was time to let it go...

'I don't want any of our children to become weapons,' she admitted in a whisper.

'That's what they will always be,' he told her. 'But the Shukaku is a powerful spirit. Any host would be more than capable of living a long and rewarding life with that kind of power at it's hands. Longer, perhaps, than we could ever promise Temari and Kankuro.'

The conversation came to a momentary end, the whistling of the wind outside disrupting the chance for silence. A soft patter of sand grains against the windowpane sounded almost like rain. Shinobi might never find lifelong familial bliss as long as they lived in this world, but their Jinchuuriki stood a chance of even outliving it's older siblings in this harsh climate.

He watched his wife move away from the side of the crib, squeezing between the small gap that existed between her bed and the baby's. She dropped down onto the bed, shuffling back against the pillows and folding her hands over her stomach.

Yondaime couldn't remember a time when he'd felt such anger radiating from his wife. Her breathing was heavy with the effort of her rage, coupled with the inconvenience presented by the crib being so close to her side of the bed. He'd told her before that they would have to take up acrobatics to navigate their own bedroom if she continued to insist on cramping it with baby things, but as usual, she had ignored his argument.

'If it matters so much to you, we can leave it,' he offered, a sigh following his words. 'The council can't say we haven't tried.'

He had to take amusement from the situation if it was worth nothing else. Karura's heavy frown was almost comical, the blush in her cheeks telling of how flustered she felt. Yondaime propped himself up on his elbows to see her better. She stared down at him in silent fury.

'Well, it's a bit late for that now,' she finally said, sliding down beneath the covers until she was lying flat on her back.

'What do you mean?'

'You can have one more try at this project,' she said, 'with our third child.'

Although she was talking to him, she was looking at her stomach, one hand cupping the tiny bump beneath her bed clothes.

Yondaime pulled himself upright with surprise. What possessed him to marry someone so tactless? Put on the spot, he didn't know whether to feel excited or terrified at the idea of becoming a father for the third time, and so quickly after the first two. He found Temari and Kankuro enough of a handful as it was, but he would never admit it out loud.

And then there was the fact that this wasn't even a hypothetical conversation any more. Talking about the prospect of another baby was one thing, but knowing it was already on the way...

'C-Congratulations,' he managed to say, although it presented itself as more of a question.

Karura flashed him a grin. 'To both of us.'

He smiled in return, laughter following with nerves, but also with the pleasure budding on behalf of his achievement. The first two children had shown him that their approach to this one had to be different if the Shukaku experiment was going to work. 'Third time's the charm', or so he'd heard.

And then there was knowing that he would have fewer worries this time. Termari had brought the fear of the unknown, Kankuro a shaky uncertainty as Yondaime had wondered if he could possibly love another child as much as he loved his daughter...

But there had been no doubt about it.

Whoever had told him that babies brought their own love, had bestowed upon him the most valuable piece of knowledge he possessed.

* * *

The time for the sealing was drawing nearer, but it was something Karura's nerves had become desensitised to after two previous attempts. Even though she knew that, this time, they were going to do things a little differently.

Yondaime found her sitting in the nursery, repainted for a third time, the oak stained crib fitted with fresh blankets. Finally, he had managed to persuade her to keep the baby in it's own room from the beginning. It was strange seeing so much floor in their bedroom since everything had been relocated to the proper place.

Karura was folding all of the clothes they'd had from the previous children, one pile for a girl, the other for a boy.

'I wonder what it'll be this time,' she mused happily. 'Take a guess.'

He leaned against the doorjamb. 'Let it be a girl. I think Temari would despair to have two brothers.'

'And it would be unfair on Kankuro to have two sisters.' She paused in thought. 'We might have to aim for a fourth, to even out the numbers.'

She flashed him one of her signature grins, the kind that made it hard to gauge what kind of reaction he was expected to have.

'Are you joking?' Yondaime baulked.

Although his tone was light, he really hoped she wasn't serious.

'D-Don't you worry about how we'll cope with them all?' he recovered.

It was a little unusual for to have a family so large in Sunagakure. At this rate, they might as well have been repopulating the whole village. But as always, Karura seemed unfazed. She had always done her own thing - he knew that more than anybody else ever could.

It had taken him almost three years to get her to move the crib out of the bedroom, and he was still exhausted from the battle.

His wife smiled to herself, 'I'm not worried. They'll have each other. With them being so young, it should be easy.'

Folding the last garment, Karura leaned forwards to place it on top of the 'neutral' pile she'd added to the accumulating stacks of clothes. She found the movement difficult with her growing size, but laughed despite herself as she struggled to reach from where she was sitting in the rocking chair. Yondaime crossed the room to help, taking the tiny gown she'd folded and dropping it onto the pile.

'You know, I've been thinking...'

'Always a dangerous idea.'

He rolled his eyes. 'This child will be... different from the other two. Do you realise that?'

'It's something I've considered, yes.'

'We'll have to be careful with it. I mean, her. Or him.'

Karura leaned back in the chair, gently rocking it as she contemplated the idea. It wasn't that they hadn't had this conversation before, but Yondaime had to wonder if she ever thought of anything beyond having a new baby to love and cherish. There was no sense of urgency in her, no fear or worry.

She seemed to grow in confidence every time. Pregnancy even brought a glow about her, her skin rosy and fresh.

'Don't think I haven't noticed the 'experts' you keep smuggling into the mansion,' she said, one eyebrow raised in a way which he could never mimic. 'Remember, Shukaku host or not, this is our baby. Not an experiment.'

'They'll be for the child's own good,' he confirmed. 'The One Tail... well, it's not something that it will adapt to easily. We've been through this.'

'I want to see the baby as soon as it's born,' she continued, as if she hadn't even heard him. 'And I want to see it every day, no more or less than I saw the first two.'

In the years that had passed since Temari's birth, Yondaime had had more than enough time to consider the value of his relationship with Karura. He couldn't believe that he'd ever expected all of his wants to inevitably become hers. That she would share his whims without complaint. It had rarely been anything but the other way around. Although, all of that was a very small price to pay for the things he liked about her.

'More importantly than that,' he heard her say.

'Please remember that I'm not a miracle worker,' he said.

'It's not a lot,' she protested. 'I just want this baby to be around Temari and Kankuro from the beginning, so they'll grow to be close. Is that acceptable?'

By all means, he should have said no. None of the things Karura wanted were likely to be possible. She would have to compromise if their child was to be capable of controlling the power they were going to bestow upon it. She would be able to do her job as a mother, but anything more would be a bonus over a necessity. If needs be, Yondaime was prepared to raise the new baby in isolation, just until they could be sure that their other children were safe before they were put in harm's way.

It would be a shame to waste the nursery that had housed Temari and Kankuro through their infancy, but Yondaime was still set on the spare room in the east wing of the mansion. Although it was a little further from their main living space, it would be ideal to contain the Shukaku host if anything ever went wrong.

Of course, he didn't want to think of the bad potential they were encasing inside of their own child, but he would be a fool to ignore the possibility of future problems with it. Either Karura really didn't understand the true weight of the situation, or she thought she didn't have to.

'I'll see what I can do,' he replied with a heavy sigh.

She beamed, taking his hand in hers, looking up at him with nothing but love. As always, her openness inspired only chagrin; he found it hard to return the gesture, instead looking to the floor where all of the baby clothes lay beneath his feet.

He wanted to ask her if she was as worried as he was about the new method they were going to try for the sealing. Previously, they had waited until after the birth before testing Temari and Kankuro's compatibility with the Shukaku. This time, the elders had suggested something different.

They would seal it whilst the baby was still developing inside of the womb.

It sounded brutal, but they couldn't waver now.

'I have a feeling that we'll be lucky this time,' Karura suddenly said, squeezing his fingers in hers, her free hand resting on her stomach.

'I don't trust luck—'

She sat forwards in her chair, the rocking brought to an abrupt stop. Yondaime flinched.

'Are you alright?'

'Give me your hand back.'

He obliged, knowing full well what she was going to announce. They had experienced the moment so many times before, but Karura never failed to get excited about it. Without saying a word, she guided his hand to her round stomach, and they waited for a moment in silent anticipation.

There was a movement, the reverberations of a strong kick felt beneath their palms.

Her face was warmed with a smile.

'I think we'll be lucky this time,' she repeated.

And the atmosphere, the circumstance, didn't have Yondaime believing anything different.

* * *

'Show me... my baby's face...'

One thing that hadn't changed was the abrupt and unbearable panic that accompanied watching his wife suffer with pain. Only this time, it had been made ten times worse by the inopportunity of the birth.

They had been expecting to wait many more weeks before their newest child would be brought into the world. And there was no denying that it had been the sealing that interfered with the pregnancy. Not even a week ago, they had conducted the ritual. Everything seemed to be going fine before that point.

Now was a different story.

'Karura, are you alright?!'

It was almost like the room was spinning. Time had unwound itself, the seconds slipping by faster than what should have been possible.

Yondaime watched the attendant take his son to Karura's side. She was exhausted with the pain and the stress of going into labour so early, but as she turned to look at the baby laid next to her, she still managed a bright smile. He watched from a distance, the elder Chiyo's words dropping into the void of inattention. The monitors began to clamour, the trilling beeps arresting everybody's attention.

'Lady Karura's heart rate is rapidly falling...'

He turned to the attendant whispering at his side, a tight fist of anger clenching his heart.

'Do something about it! Quickly!'

Karura had rolled onto her side, her hands cupped around the impossibly tiny child that had taken so much energy from her. The sheets beneath her were soaked red, the cloying smell of blood thick in the air. She was muttering, delirious with blood loss, struggling to breathe past her own tender words that only the baby could hear.

As the attendants uselessly sought to help her, Yondaime shoved himself between them, approaching the bedside and willing the nightmare unfolding before his eyes to end.

'No matter... what happens... I'll always protect you...'

Her grip around the child slackened, her eyes shut tight as she struggled to fight off the agony inside. Yondaime put his hand over hers, encouraging her to keep her hold on their son. There were so many things he wanted to say, things he wanted to shout at the top of his lungs, but amid the chaos surrounding him, he radiated only silence.

'Gaara...' he heard her mutter, the strength of her voice fading. 'I want... to call him...'

The machine that had been frantically beeping by his side lapsed into a dull monotonous stream of sound. All of Karura's strength had been drained, her body slumping into unconsciousness.

Into death.

Yondaime waited for a moment, completely still, breathless, expecting at any moment that time would catch up with him and normality would resume with it. The attendants would tell him to let her rest, he'd come back a few hours later to find her awake and cooing over the new baby.

Not this time.

Choked by his own grief, he slumped forwards, one hand wound in Karura's hair, the other holding their son close.

A hand touched his back, the machine beside him abruptly soundless. Prying attendants forced their way into their small circle of comfort, taking great care in removing the newborn from the pillow and whisking him out of the room. Yondaime tore himself away from his wife for a moment, watching in bewilderment as his son was taken out of his sight.

'He needs to be incubated,' he heard Lady Chiyo say at his ear, but she might as well have not spoken at all.

Chest heaving, face damp with tears, Yondaime moved away from the bed, from Karura who lay motionless in her own blood. The attendants left behind stood back out of respect, but it was clear they wanted to get to work in removing her body from the room and cleaning the area. He swept a glance over them, enraged to see them flinch in the face of his one moment of weakness. Without saying a word, he stormed from the room, breezing through the corridors at a fast pace, holding just enough decorum to avoid bursting into a run.

Soon enough he was in his office, the door shut behind him and the night beyond the windows drinking all light from the room. He crossed over to them, slamming the shutters down, blocking out the world beyond. As he turned to face the mountain of work at his desk, the vacant office space that greeted him, he felt lost.

None of it seemed real. He still believed that if he left the room now, he could return to Karura's bedside and see her sleeping soundly. So what was stopping him from going to her?

It was _knowing_. Knowing that the exact opposite would be true. And for the first time in a long while, he felt lost.

Worthless and lost.

* * *

'He's growing quite well... he has started to open his eyes...'

The papers on his desk were in need of urgent attention. His inbox had become sufficiently depleted. Yondaime took pride in keeping the basket almost empty. It was a new thing. A new him. The work had to be done, and he was the only one around to do it.

'Already, he looks a lot like you, Lord Kazekage.'

Annoying. What was the most annoying thing? The ink running out mid-sentence. Yondaime reached over the desk, dipping the nib of the pen into the pot and staining it black. He began to scribble away at the paper again, irritated that part of the character he'd been writing had turned darker with the line having to be redrawn.

'I think...'

'What do you think?'

He looked up, fixing Yashamaru with a harsh stare.

'You know how I love to hear you come in here, telling me what you think.'

'I think that you should visit your son, Lord Kazekage.'

He caught a laugh in his throat, a cold thing. A cold, bitter thing. Karura's little brother was so similar to her, just a lot softer. Where he had attempted ferocity, he showed only kindness, eager encouragement.

Yondaime was beginning to grow tired of him bringing his medical expertise into his office. As far as he was aware, he wasn't the one who needed the attention. Gaara did. The only thing Yashamaru had to do was give him an update on the boy's development. Not try to council him during it.

'I'll see you tomorrow,' he said, gesturing to the exit with a nod. 'Shut the door on your way out, I don't wish to be disturbed.'

Disappointment took Yashamaru's features, but as usual, he made nothing of it.

'Yes, sir,' was all he said, before obediently backing towards the exit.

* * *

It wasn't that Yashamaru's words had struck a chord, more that he wanted to see evidence of his son's condition improving. Day in, day out, Yondaime was told how Gaara was growing, how he was developing, but he couldn't judge the worth of that information if he stayed behind his desk and never ventured into the nearby hospital to see for himself.

Not even a whole step in, he remembered why he hated being there so much. It smelt like death. Death masked with strong coatings of disinfectant, guarded by weary-eyed medics, who were worn from the blinding, harsh light of reality their profession forced them to look at every day. He would have kept the baby at home where he was born, but Yondaime had been told that the mansion 'wasn't equipped with the facilities needed' to keep him alive.

At least he didn't have to worry about the medics prying at his business here today. They maintained a respectful distance from him, appearing busy, but he could see them all side-eyeing him. The aftershock of Karura's death had the village trembling, many now uncertain about the expected Jinchuuriki. Gaara's was a birth that should have been celebrated. Instead, it had been marred with tragedy.

Leaving the main lobby, Yondaime walked past the sick and the dying until he reached the isolated room where his son was being kept. The muted hustle and bustle of the wards vanished as he stepped into what felt like a void, the palpable silence and pleasant warmth cocooning everything within. In the centre, there was an incubator. His son, locked inside the glass case, lay swaddled in soft blankets.

Yashamaru was there, his back turned to the door as he made notes, but he was quick to respond to the sound of the door being opened. He offered a bright smile which Yondaime ignored. Remaining at the edges of the room, he fixed his stare on the small child. _His_ child. He was wired to the machine encasing him, his bare chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes were open and startlingly blue.

'He's a little bigger than when I last saw him,' Yondaime admitted aloud.

'Yes,' Yashamaru agreed, sending a look of warmth to the child. 'He's developing normally. Well, as normally as he can be at that size.'

'And... he'll live?'

The pause that followed made him feel embarrassed for asking.

'We can't say for sure at this stage,' Yashamaru hedged, 'but Lord Gaara is doing very well... Please try not to worry too much. Although I know that's a hard thing to ask of any parent...'

He brought his hand to the back of his head, ruffling his blonde hair in a habit of flustered shyness. The purplish rings beneath his eyes, his dedication to personally providing the new baby with twenty-four hour care, was all tell-tale of his attempt to shirk his grief. And Yondaime hated to look at him, to see the resemblance and be reminded of what he had lost...

Redirecting his gaze elsewhere, he found himself looking at the baby again, his eye contact returned. He assumed it was the presence of something new that captivated Gaara's attention. He didn't believe his son could recognise him as a father yet. There was no telling if a child so feeble and underdeveloped could even see anything at all.

There were too many uncertainties that had arrived with him. Things he had never had to worry about with Temari and Kankuro. Thinking about raising his youngest son without Karura was like standing on a ledge over a deep crevice, the only chance of making it to the other side being a death-defying leap. And the worst part of the feeling was the hesitancy, the fear.

'Lord Kazekage, you can move closer to him if you want...'

Yashamaru had returned his attention to his note-making, but he stood at an angle so that he didn't have to have his back to the doorway where Yondaime was waiting. He looked as nervous as he had sounded.

'They say a father should have contact with his child, to help strengthen the bond,' Yashamaru continued to explain. 'You can't hold Lord Gaara yet, but you can at least stand closer to him.'

Yondaime swallowed the irritation that bubbled up in his chest. It wasn't like he didn't know that already. He had two children, he'd bonded with them just fine. But he was here to judge the value of the care being bestowed upon his son, not start an argument. From this distance, he could only get an overview, something he heard from Yashamaru everyday in his office.

Clearing his throat, he crossed the small distance between the door and the crib. The baby flinched, startled, seconds before an ear-splitting beep cut through the quietness of the room.

'What's happening? What's wrong with him?'

Too focused to give an answer, Yashamaru went to the crib-side immediately, adjusting some of the wires with a grave expression of seriousness. There were holes on each side of the case big enough to fit a hand through. This allowed him to silence the machinery with little effort. Once the alarms stopped and Gaara relaxed after his fright, Yondaime felt more out of place than ever. Annoyance struck him, but for what reason, he couldn't be sure.

'Please don't worry,' Yashamaru said, hands up in surrender. 'This happens often. Any sudden movements can disturb the wires.'

Although he was beginning to calm down, the tension of the mistake still had Yondaime's nerves wrought.

'Normal? It's normal for him to jump like that?'

'I hear premature babies startle easily,' Yashamaru said, gentle laughter following his words. 'It has happened more than once. You get used to it over time.'

Maybe he hadn't meant it, but Yondaime knew what he was getting at. It had been almost four weeks since Gaara was born, but this was the first time his father had been to see him.

How must that look?

But nobody could even begin to understand the pain that had taken him since the birth. Gaara was not a child conceived out of love, but the third and last attempt at creating a test subject.

Temari and Kankuro were now left motherless because of that decision.

Just being here felt like a betrayal.

He knew those weren't the kind of thoughts a father was supposed to have, but they continued to distantly register in his mind. If anything, it spurred him to try and override them. To try and replace them with the positivity and overwhelming emotion that took him when he thought of his first two children.

But his heart was still stuttering from the panic, at the thought that he might have had to watch another part of Karura die right in front of him. Helpless to it.

This was just another situation for him to be worthless in.

Taking smaller steps, he reached the tiny crib, looking down on his youngest son who lay sprawled out on the bedding. His eyes travelled in a slow movement, his attention rapt with the newcomer.

Seeing that Yashamaru was working on his notes, Yondaime took the opportunity to reach out for the 'contact' they had discussed earlier. He curled over his index finger, gently running it over his son's arm, the skin soft and delicate like a flower petal.

Although he had grown in the past few weeks, Gaara was still unbelievably small. Much smaller than Temari and Kankuro had been as newborns. Yondaime was sure that he could hold him in both hands like a doll. It was so strange to see his eyes open, to feel as though he was being watched by this tiny existence that likely didn't think anything, that had every reason to be as nonexistent as his thoughts. He wondered at the battle the child might have been fighting just to stay alive.

Gaara lay almost motionless, but made small movements, like clenching his tiny fingers into a fist before opening them again.

Yondaime waited for the same rush of love he had felt twice before, the bursting pride that was supposed to brim in his chest and warm his insides. He waited, but felt little of anything. He didn't want to doubt his love. All parents loved their children, didn't they? It was natural. It was normal. It would come flooding soon enough...

Maybe he just needed to visit more often.

Gaara closed his eyes, the skin on his lids stained dark black. It was evidence of the Shukaku stored within this tiny vessel.

'I'll be back to see him tomorrow,' Yondaime said, finding it too easy to take his eyes away from the sleeping child before him.

'I'm sure Lord Gaara will be glad to see you,' Yashamaru said brightly.

He nodded, allowing the moment to drag out for a few seconds. He waited for the urge to stay close and protect his offspring to hurry up and hit him already.

Yet there was still nothing.

With a jarred turn, he headed for the door, leaving behind the pocket of silence and softness that would encapsulate his son's first few months of life.

But as he walked back through the wards, Yondaime couldn't help wondering how much time would pass before that serenity was lost.

* * *

Six years.

It had taken his worst nightmare six years to materialise before him. But what could he say about his own nightmares? If Karura was here, if she could see what had become of her Gaara, she would be suffering a nightmare of her own. Her cherished, youngest son turned into the child she hadn't been able to see beyond his first day, the child surrounded by experts she didn't want and kept in the solitude of the dreaded spare room.

Worst of all, a sibling to Temari and Kankuro who might as well not have existed.

They had asked to see him, but Yondaime didn't dare allow them to be alone in the presence of their youngest brother. In the presence of the monster he was desperately trying to train under their roof, the failed experiment he was struggling to love.

The closest things he had to Karura were his three children. Yashamaru was gone – there wasn't even a body left behind to bury. And now, lying at his feet, one of her remnants would only be of any use to him if it was dead.

Sunagakure had been lucky that Gaara hadn't known to force himself to sleep. The damage was minimal, but still significant enough to warrant the expense of repairs, compensation... his family wouldn't be the only one mourning that night. Evacuating a whole village was never going to be easy, and there would always be somebody who would refuse to leave. He tried to tell himself that that wasn't his problem, but it was. All of this was his problem, something he had to fix.

With the Shukaku subdued, his son had fallen to the floor in a river of sand in a wide street. Yondaime approached, the grains crunching beneath his feet as he scoped out the area for any sign of his child.

He saw Gaara's small frame amongst the debris, struggling to move after the exertion of losing control. Flecks of gold dust mixed with sand dripped out of his red hair, ran from the folds of his clothes. Aware of somebody else's presence, the boy looked upwards, tense with fear, his face grubby with tear tracks.

A small ache registered within, pity mixed with the agony of love. But he knew. Yondaime knew that if he really loved this child, he would kill it for it's own sake. And for everybody else's. As a failed experiment, his life would only consist of more failure. He would forever be at the whims of the beast they'd sealed inside of him, truly possessed. Now he knew why Karura had been so difficult to move on the subject.

He could remember pleading with her just to listen to him, to understand his point. Now, he realised he had never once tried to understand hers.

Dried blood still covered Gaara's skin where he'd carved a mark into his forehead, the character a little unclear in the darkness of the night. Yondaime crouched down so that they were closer to eye level, not knowing quite what to feel when his son crawled backwards to escape him. His movements were slow, his fear leaving in involuntary whimpers of pain.

Until he came to an abrupt stop.

He must have reached his limit, the exhaustion of the full possession dragging him under. Gaara slumped forwards without warning, sinking into the miniature sand dune that covered the stone floor, frame slack with unconsciousness.

There was no use hesitating. The boy was nearly always awake. This opportunity might not present itself ever again.

Taking a kunai out of the pouch hanging from his waist, Yondaime held it over Gaara's small frame, aiming to drive it through his back, to puncture a lung or stop his heart. It was for the sake of the village. It was his worst nightmare come to life, but it was something he was going to have to live through.

This couldn't go on.

He was six.

Gaara was six, and he'd already killed more than a handful of innocent people. What would he be like double that age? Would his siblings still be alive? Or would he become an unstoppable force that nobody could ever control? That was no life. Nobody deserved that kind of existence. Karura's sacrifice might become lost with their youngest son, but at least she would live on in Temari and Kankuro. At least he didn't have to say goodbye to her completely.

With all of the force he could muster, Yondaime jabbed at Gaara's back with the kunai, the rebound jarring his shoulder as the sand rose up to protect him. It curved over the small boy like an arm, the fingers of the hand fully formed until the grains loosened from their shape and dropped over him like water.

Yondaime blinked, wondering if the sudden and severe depletion of his chakra was making him hallucinate. But really, he didn't think it mattered what he saw from this point onwards.

This glaring failure would obscure his view for as long as it survived.

* * *

He was so light. No longer small like a doll, but still as delicate. At least in sleep.

Yondaime could remember the day that had marked the end of looking at his son through a glass box. At the time, he knew that it should have been a happy experience. And he did put on a smile. But he had to go back many more times before he dared to hold him.

Why was that again?

There was no mistaking that bonding with Gaara had been much harder than it had been with the previous two. Half of it had been grief, the other half stubborn unwillingness. It wasn't as simple as hating the child that had taken Karura's life, although sometimes he wished it was.

He knew that what he felt for Gaara wasn't the same intense love he had for his first two children, but that wasn't to say that he was _un_loved.

If anything, Yondaime had been terrified of becoming too attached to him.

He couldn't be appraised like any normal child, because Gaara wasn't just his. He was a valuable asset to Sunagakure and so belonged to the village. Overall, his youngest son was an experiment. And where paternal urges should have quieted his worries, instead there had raged only fluctuating doubts.

But in forcing himself to observe his son as a third party, and not as his father, Yondaime now realised he was guilty of the most cruel neglect.

Spoilt with toys and treats, the attendants monitoring his son's progress had been ordered to pander to his every whim. Whilst Yondaime told himself it was to prevent provoking the boy's childish temper, it was also his attempt of creating a replacement for the family life that Gaara could never have. And what a weak replacement it had been.

Whenever he had visited him in the spare room, Yondaime had expected a strong bond to accumulate out of mere principle. As his father, he wanted to see him, and Gaara, as his son, should have missed him.

Instead of the desperate reverence he was expecting, all Yondaime ever received was indifference.

Restraint.

The silent treatment.

And every time he saw Yashamaru caring better for Gaara, always able to coax the tender side out of him, Yondaime struggled to contain the nagging irritability that had settled at the left side of his chest. Whilst the much-loved uncle received smiles and arms outstretched for comfort, his own father struggled to even get two words out of his son.

Even standing in the spare room now reminded him of all the awkward confrontations they had shared together. The struggle of training him, the mixture of terror and awe that rose every time he watched Gaara exceed everybody's expectations. Measuring him against any regular child was never appropriate; he was already clipping the heels of his older siblings, and stood to surpass them in all fields. It was such a terrible shame that he couldn't control that power as his own.

Yondaime moved towards the small bed by the window, placing Gaara down onto the undisturbed sheets with care. As he had aged, his sleeping pattern had become more and more disrupted. Sleep had taken him without fail in his infancy, but the severe insomnia that now affected him began earlier than anyone could have anticipated. It started with restless nights, severe exhaustion being the only thing to silence his cries some nights.

But over time, he grew used to the lack of sleep. Even began to cope with it in his own ways. For the sake of routine, Gaara was put to bed at a set time. Yet he could sometimes be heard talking in the early hours, playing games by himself to ease the loneliness he must have felt.

Seeing his son with his eyes closed and lying so still, it was almost easy to pretend that this was a different night in a different time, and that this child, too, was different. Not a volatile Jinchuuriki, but a normal boy, six years old, with a mother and father and two siblings who saw him every day.

If Yondaime closed his eyes to the reality, then the fantasy might as well have been true.

He couldn't imagine how life was supposed to go on after this incident. Nobody would care for Gaara like Yashamaru had, but he was too young to cast out of the house. What was Yondaime supposed to do in failing to kill him with a blade? Hope he'd starve to death? Dehydrate? Both were such undignified, cruel deaths. And those things couldn't test Gaara's worth beyond assessing his resourcefulness. With the Shukaku to guide him, it was likely that he would survive even the most extreme conditions.

Besides, allowing him to roam the streets would only increase casualties. Gaara was already used to showing violence when denied; Yondaime knew that he couldn't unleash that kind of thing on the general public and expect them to accept it. And if his son became a wayward, travelling too close to any of the regions that bordered the Land of Wind, Sunagakure could look like an aggressor. The best thing he could do for his village right now would be to keep a close eye on the Jinchuuriki.

He was still in deep unconsciousness, but wore a light frown as if suffering a disturbing dream. There was no guarantee that he'd sleep for much longer. Yondaime brushed Gaara's hair away from his face, examining the injury on his forehead, the character he'd carved there himself: 'Love'.

Love was something of great worth. Once upon a time, Yondaime believed that it was the reason behind his strength. But what had love done to him after Karura had been so cruelly torn away from this world? It had ripped him to pieces.

It was too pure, too volatile a thing. And he had long since grown to fear it.

Despite the test he'd devised, there was still no telling what this son of his was worth. At the moment, it felt like nothing. He was a failure of an experiment, but for as long as it could be deemed necessary, Yondaime saw no problem with continuing to test Gaara. If nothing else, he might be able to push him to become the ruthless, unfeeling weapon the village needed him to be.

His breaths quickened, a nightmare beginning to take hold. Yondaime knew not to wait around. He couldn't risk any kind of connection overwriting the one they already had.

This would be a bond threaded with careful control.

He couldn't risk seeing his son crying, he couldn't risk seeing him afraid. No matter what, he had to control this relationship as tightly as he expected Gaara to control the Shukaku. If he couldn't deal with loss, then he must have any bond he'd established ripped right from him before Sunagakure suffered another disaster like this one.

Yondaime closed the door behind himself, continuing down the corridor, away from the spare room until he was out of earshot of any cry or scream that might permeate it's walls.

It would not be too unlike the day he had left him at the hospital, after his very first visit.

Only this difference was that, this time, there would be no going back.

* * *

_So, if you've reached the end, thank you so much for reading and well done for sticking with it. Ha ha! At a little over 9,000 words this is a very long oneshot... but I think it works better as a longer piece._

_I just want to use this space to quickly explain a few things... Because the Shukaku-compatibility thing is really vague, I just went ahead and assumed that all three of the sand siblings have at some point been considered as a possible Jinchuuriki. I'm not really sure how else they might have determined Gaara's compatibility otherwise...? Then in regards to the characterisation of Karura and Yondaime, since there isn't a lot to take from their short appearances in the series, I've just used what I know of their three children to flesh out their personalities... But this is all just my own interpretation of the characters... so, it's perfectly fine if you don't agree with them. In which case, I apologise for not hitting the mark right for you._

_Scenes which appear in the manga and whatnot, I've had to rewrite a little bit, but I have tried to keep those parts as close to canon as possible... In all honesty, I really don't know how the NARUTO world would care for a premature baby (would they have a medical ninjutsu team for that? Ha ha!) so I just stuck with what I know to be safe._

_Otherwise, I hope this was an enjoyable read... Thank you once again..._


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